


To build a dam

by Elisexyz



Series: Whumptober 2019 (Black Sails) [1]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Episode: s03e02 XX., Fake Character Death, Gen, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-02 01:03:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20568863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elisexyz/pseuds/Elisexyz
Summary: “Oh, we should probably give her a moment,” Hornigold says, with a smile as fake as the benevolence in his voice. “She and Captain Flint were—close friends.” His smile widens, his eyes fixated on her face.Eleanor’s lips twist into a smile – or better, a grimace – of circumstance.“Is that so?” Rogers asks, pointedly.She clenches her jaw. “I don’t believe ‘friends’ is the right word,” she says, drily.





	To build a dam

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the "Shaky Hands" prompt in the Whumptober 2019 event.  
  
I was rewatching, and... this happened. Hornigold walks on the ship bragging about how he pushed Flint into a storm and got him and his crew killed, and given that I love Flint and Eleanor, here's her possible reaction. I suppose it could be read as romantic if you wanted to, feel free. Enjoy!

Eleanor is nothing if not a practical woman. She is a practical, smart woman, and one apt at playing political games quite well.

It doesn’t require her much thinking to realize that punching Hornigold in the face would not be an appropriate response to his smug declaration, not in the position that she is currently in. Not when her survival depends on her compliance and usefulness to a man that apparently has found use for Hornigold too.

She straightens her back, pressing her lips in a thin line in the hopes that it will help keeping her expression appropriately blank, her fingers curling around her dress, in a gesture that with a little luck might go unnoticed but is made necessary by the way her hands are trembling – she likes to think that it is out of outrage more than weakness; after all, it wasn’t that long ago that she possessed enough power to be able to throw Hornigold into the fucking sea for this, perhaps her body is having an hard time adjusting as well.

Hornigold keeps glancing at her, an insufferable grin plastered on his face and a challenge in his eyes. It no doubt pleases him that he killed one of the people that cheated him out of retaking his fort and that he can rub it into the face of another.

Flint is dead.

Eleanor’s stomach shrinks, tears start pushing behind her eyes and her fingers grab the fabric of her skirt even more tightly, but she doesn’t say anything.

She is in no position to.

That cowardly fuck didn’t even have the decency to engage with him frontally, he just pushed him into a _storm_, let the _weather_ do it for him—it doesn’t matter. It cannot matter.

Flint’s death is important, but only because it is bound to have some kind of influence on Rogers’ plans to retake Nassau. She has to figure out whether it changes things for better or for the worse, and it is only with that goal in mind that she is allowed to think about it.

It is not a good thing, she decides.

(Her head seems to be outright refusing to even contemplate the opposite conclusion.)

Flint can—could be reasoned with. That much she already has shared with Rogers. Flint could be reasoned with, and so can Rackham, so long as you know which points to press. Maybe, between the two of them, they could have managed to subdue Charles, pose a united front solid enough to make him cave—yeah, right, as if.

Nevertheless, Flint was a potential ally, this isn’t a _good_ thing—

“Miss Guthrie?” Rogers tears her out of her line of thought, making her jump a little where she stands, slightly out of breath as her heartbeat fastens.

“Yes?” she asks, quickly, her voice coming out a little too thin, making it all too clear how taken aback she was.

Rogers stays silent for a moment, studying her in that unnerving way that makes shivers run down her spine and her muscles tense. “You seem lost in thought,” he comments, placidly.

Before Eleanor can give an explanation, claim to be only thinking of possible ramifications that could get in the way of the realization of his plan, Hornigold has to say his piece, because of course he cannot mind his own business for a fucking change.

“Oh, we should probably give her a moment,” he says, with a smile as fake as the benevolence in his voice. “She and Captain Flint were—close friends.” His smile widens, his eyes fixated on her face.

Eleanor’s lips twist into a smile – or better, a grimace – of circumstance.

“Is that so?” Rogers asks, pointedly.

She clenches her jaw. “I don’t believe ‘friends’ is the right word,” she says, drily. _‘Close’ might be, though_.

Her eyes choose the worst possible moment to start stinging, but she has had practice suffocating displays of weakness, so she swallows, keeping her head up under Rogers’ accusing gaze.

“And what would the right word be?” he asks. It doesn’t take a genius to imagine that what he wants to know is if she was fucking him too. _If you were, you’d better tell me now_, his eyes threaten.

Eleanor can almost feel the noose tightening around her neck.

“Business partners,” she says, confidently enough. It sounds _so_ wrong to her own ears, but it isn’t a complete lie, is it? “Flint and I shared a vision of—of what we wanted for Nassau. We thought it best to work together to achieve it.”

Hornigold snorts, loud enough to be heard by both of them, but Rogers doesn’t acknowledge him, instead staring at Eleanor.

“And that is all?” he asks, slowly.

“That is all,” she assures, her mouth dry but her voice steady.

That is all. The better half of a decade, and _that is all_.

Rogers stares at her in silence for a few moments that seem to stretch into an eternity, then his lips twist into a slight, satisfied grin, and he gives her a _look_—

Flint used to look at her, sometimes, especially after a particularly witty retort, with a barely hidden smile on his lips, snorting in amusement as if to say that he genuinely liked her, maybe that he was also a little bit proud of her comebacks.

Rogers likes what he sees too, just not in the same way. Rogers has found signs of submission in her behaviour, and he’s celebrating himself for it.

“I trust that there aren’t any ill feelings here,” he says then, gesturing briefly between her and Hornigold. “Or better, I trust that said feelings won’t be manifested in any way that could create an inconvenience for me.”

Eleanor breathes heavily through her nose, her stomach boiling and the fantasy of pushing Hornigold and Rogers together into the fucking sea all too appealing, but she pushes it away, trying to take steady breaths the way Mr Scott so many times advised her to and coming up with her best fake smile.

“Of course,” she says, calm and steady, no trace of anger in her voice, as if it weren’t even her talking. “No ill feelings will get in the way.”

She is fine. Nothing has changed, she still has to do what it takes to survive, same as before Hornigold set foot on the ship.

Yet, her hands keep shaking.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates comments, including: 
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 
> If you don’t want a reply, for any reason, feel free to sign your comment with “whisper” and I will appreciate it but not respond!


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